A Moll's Survival Guide to Sumatra

Dear Moll Diary,

A little over two weeks in the town of Krui in Sumatra, Indonesia, and the following is what I learned. Yes, often the hard way.
P.S - Usually I try not to discriminate between moll sexes, equal rights for male molls and all, but in this case the problems outlined are specifically for the laaaaadies (if you know 'Flight of the Conchords you'll know how to sing that.)

Lesson one - If you wax, BYO
Bikini, arms, legs, nether regions, etceteras. If you (like me) have made the tough transition from razor to ripping and don't want to look back, then make sure you're packing upon entrance to the country. The 'women's' section of any supermarket will give you all the whitening cream you could never want, but other than that it's razors only. (I did try for a 'proffesional' wax in Java but that's a story for another day. A funny funny day with lots of gin)

Two - Embrace the Bintang
I've never liked beer. I can drink it, but generally it's because there's less than five bucks in my wallet and I can't see any prospective gin sponsors in my near vicinity. And trust me, after a long day of lying around the compound, a moll needs some liquor. There's two choices available. Bintang, or the sweet-cough syrup-fowl tasting - vomit educing red 'wine' (used in the loosest sense of the word). Hint. DO NOT CHOOSE THE WINE.

Three - Boardies not bikinis.
If you have images of yo' fine self struttin' yo stuff in your new MJ remembrance bikini (silver sequined left boob and Bubbles on the bum) You had better put those ideas out of your (I'm sure) gorgeous head. This is a Muslim country and if you don't respect their culture and cover up then your trip will not be enjoyable. t-shirt and boardies are the done thing.

Four - Make friends with books.
I'm not saying bring Proust's entire works (unless that floats your boat). I'm not even suggesting you have to expand your horizons. I'm just saying you're going to have a lot of time on your hands and fantasizing about Robert Patterson (yes I'm a fan) is only going to take so long. If Mills and Boon are your thing, by all means bodice-rip your way through a 'steamy and hot member' of an afternoon. Just make sure you have enough to last your time in the compound.

Five - Your compound is your kingdom
This means you had better make it a good one. You will spend a lot of time within the four walls of your 'losman' (bungalows/hotel) so make sure it's user (or more specifically moll) friendly. Insiders tip - don't stress if there's no shower. All bathrooms have a big tub of clean water and a bucket. This can become your best friend in the middle of the day, when it's unbearably hot and your boredom has hit a whole new level. Get your gear off and get your elephant on. Scoop that water and throw it in the air like you just don't care. You and the bathroom should be completely saturated by the end.

Six - Patience is a virtue
You will spend the majority of your social hours discussing surf/ watching surf/ watching surf dvd's/ riding around looking for surf/ discussing how everyone's surf was (you get the picture). If you can't sit patiently through this you are going to have problems. I found my best option was to keep a 'interested and listening' face on and retreat into my 'alternate reality'. Robert Patterson interrupts the conversation saying 'excuse me but I'm looking for the most beautiful girl in the world' (surprise surprise that's me) . Then we retire to his private yacht and have, um, mature discussions about women's micro economic loans in Bangladesh..... We talk about it for hours......

Seven - Make sure you man can moll
If your surfer has a one track mind you had better sit him down for an insightful and varied discussion regarding what will happen to his testicles if he doesn't take you out for 'walkies' (hint - this is not an erotic conversation). It doesn't really matter where you go (but did I mention facials are only $2!! he can join you or wait outside...) it just has to happen or else you will end up like a frustrated (but adorable) puppy. Frustrated puppies can do bad things such as 'chewing' up their surfers board (hint - most compounds have power tools).

My final tip is to relax and enjoy yourself. If you're in a beautiful tropical paradise then there's no point spending your time sulking in your room. Just follow these lessons and you will find Sumatra can be a moll's best friend.

Sumatra - One Moll's Fortress of Solitude

When Mr Bodyboard first suggested that we join his friends el Floppo and Mr Roughage in Indonesia as part of our world trip I was hesitant. By Indonesia he meant Sumatra and by Sumatra he meant Krui and by Krui he meant a surfing safari. Yes as in 'Let's go surfing now everybody's learning now (little know fact - The Beach Boys are a moll's Antichrist, their beautifully harmonised doctrine subliminally enters surfers minds and creates endless annoyances for molls. 'No Daz there's not two molls for every guy and you have to do more than just wink your eye to get this bikini clad beauty thank you very much!').

Eventually I was swayed by images of tropical jungle, endless white sand beaches with crystal clear water,a man-moll(Mr Roughage doesn't surf) and a promise from Mr Bodyboard that at least one portion of the day would be speant on non-surfing activities.

As I write this tropical jungle lines the dusty dirt road to our losman (bungalows) and from the viewing platform I can watch the sun set over the coral reef which is meters away. Mr Roughage has returned to Jakarta (although his few days as part of 'team moll' were full of vigilance and support) and I know Mr Bodyboard will take me swimming this afternoon.

So why is this trip so difficult for me?

Krui is still relatively isolated from tourists, and those who do make the difficult trek are almost purely groups of male surfers here from Australia on (often) a boys only surf trip. The lack of exposure to western women combined with the fact that this is a strict Muslim town (the call to prayer wakes us at 4am each morning) makes it difficult for a moll to move around.

Throughout my time here I hear of molls from other compounds who blatantly flout local cultural conventions, wearing bikinis or walking around by themselves, which results in rocks being or sexual aggression from young men. I am very careful with my dress and attitude so receive minimal flack (the worst - a kid shot me with his potato gun!!) but still find my world becomes smaller.

In the morning dawn is filled with the roar of motorbikes and wax being rubbed on boards as the men file out to live their dream of 10second barrels and endless glassy peaks (my equivalent excitement would come from spending the day with a monkey who could massage feet, imagine that!!! amazing!!! You could literally pay in peanuts!!! )

I wait alone in the compound, listening for the wave hunters return, reading or doing yoga in my room (Yoga must be done in my room unless I want a large crowd who could only be more judgmental if they had scorecards). As the best waves are at dawn and dusk Mr Bodyboard takes me out for 'walkies' during the middle of the day. A stroll into town, or a swim (fully clothed) at the beach.

One day, as another of the almost constant surfing based conversations discusses a new 'break' (non molls - it is a surf spot they are discussing, not their emotions in regards to a troubled relationship. ) I realize that for the duration of our time here, I am effectively off duty. I can't wait & watch on the beach un-chaperoned, the excess of surfers means I am not required to provide 'oooooooooohs and aaaaaaaaahs' during surfing monologues, I'm not even available as a bikini clad trophy gal. I realize there is only one path open to me. I relax into my holiday from molling.

Did an awesome wave trick? I don't care
Did two? Pffffft whatever.
I'm on holidays.

Mr Bodyboard is my moll for those mid day hours,oooohing and aaahing as I explain who is guilty in my trashy crime novel,cheering me on as I snorkel, and being my board short clad trophy that local girls make eyes at.

This is not to say it's all peaches and cream. I miss women desperately and fantasize about finding a rogue pack of permed haired fluro bikini wearing molls on the beach, lying together puberty blues style. I see myself opening with 'Do any of yous know a good waxer?' or some other witty statement. They would welcome me, and braid my hair or squeeze my blackheads.

Why I am choosing to fantasize about trashy grade 7 molls is completely beyond me. It's like I'm dying of thirst in the desert and my mirage is of peanut butter. But who really cares, I'm on holiday and my only concern is finding that sweet sweet massaging monkey......

Dear diary, Japan part 2

I started the day in a less than good mood (of course usually I arise goddess-like and glowing). We had experienced a mini economic downturn combined with a general financial crisis in the form of an unexpectedly expensive hotel bill. For this reason I was perhaps a little surly when reminded by Mr Bodyboard of my promise.

The previous day during my onsen time (he's learning - I'm barely conscious mid-bath ) Mr Bodyboard requested that I spend some time capturing his image for all eternity tomorrow as the 'swell' (moll terms, big plus lots of waves) would be especially good.
'But of course whatever you want light of my life' I mumbled 'Just pass me another delicious grapefruit canned cocktail'

In the bleary light of day I sighed with disappointment, I had agreed too easily (usually such a request would be time for bargaining, I probably could have gotten a six pack of canned cocktails or at the very least a mystery packaged something from the very exciting Japanese supermarket).

Photo taking is my least favourite moll duty, it is grade seven behaviour and I shirk it wherever possible.

But, as the agreement stood (I figured there was always a chance for post bargaining and was in the mood for something with an overly excited brightly dressed character gesturing wildly on the packaging) I trudged off the the beach to do my lonely work. I say lonely because in Australia we molls generally are. Gone are the pack-moll days of puberty blues when molls would gather in solidarity to while away the hours and enjoy intellectual debates ( 'Shaz your perm looks ace, I reckon a side pony would be really exotic, kind of tribal?'). Now we sit, alone at the bottom of the beach food chain. I think other than surfers it often feels like tuck shop ladies, lifeguards and scantily clad backpackers playing volleyball are all above us. Each moll is isolated, observing the others, and often competitively judging them ('her perm looks friggin sh*thouse and what's with the side pony? Tribal Hussy.')

When I arrived Mr Bodyboard informed me that his friends Y & A were lunching and would be back soon to take some photos with me. I had my doubts as I knew they both surfed and assumed that they would actually join him. However as Mr Bodyboard was about to enter the ocean Y & A arrived, settled down next to me, and asserted their permanence with beach mats and a packed lunch. Embarrassed at my task I glued the camera to my eye hoping to quickly capture the 'moments' and be done with them.

Mr Bodyboard wanted at least five waves worth. That's like five times up and down the catwalk, only the catwalk is liquid and rather than outfit changes they do different wave trick thingys.

As I snuck a glance around I noticed many others with cameras pointed out to sea, and was startled as they met my gaze with proud smiles and nodds of encouragement. I heard Y & A cheering not just for Mr Bodyboard, but for the other surfers as well as if we were watching a sporting match and everyone was their favourite player. Over the next hour our little group grew, as did the others dotted along the beach.

I realized I was in the midst of a Japanese moll pack.

When a really big wave came everyone would whistle and yell out to the surfers, cheering regardless of whether they caught the wave or crashed. Taking photos was suddenly an important job. If Mr Bodyboard was on a wave they would all call out to me and point, then rush over to compare photos with me to see who had gotten the best shot. Y was especially interested and I detected a definite man-friend crush, confirmed when he said 'I crush!' and giggled pointing to Mr Bodyboard.

Suddenly there was no food chain, just a Utopian and symbiotic relationship where surfers and molls were equal & both praised for their work. At one stage I was distracted by a spontaneous baseball game, and my pack molls called frantically to me to let me know there was a great 'trick move thing' about to happen which needed my attention. When I went to the toilet they took turns with the camera, thanking me profusely on my return as if I had allowed them to experience my glory, if only for a moment.

For those few hours moll was no longer a dirty word, it was something to be proud of.

The tiny island of Niijima has put Australian molls to shame. The next time you see a lonely moll go and sit next to her, cheer her on, and maybe even offer a delicious canned cocktail. Remember we are an important (and very good looking I might add) part of the beach circle of life too.

Dear diary, Japan part 1

When strolling along a beach (maybe on a tiny island called Niijima off the coast of Tokyo) most people gaze towards the ocean, watching the waves, and maybe even those on them. Not me. I'm focused on my long term study of the under apruciated ( by our reckoning anyway) moll culture, of which I am a proud member.

Focus your eyes on the shoreline and you will see us there, waiting, watching, and wondering just how long our surfer is going to take today. In Australia we are generally a female dominated group, and from my initial impression I assumed things were the same in Japan. As I strolled along I spied what at first glance appeared to be a traditional moll, with long platted hair and a simple dress, camera in hand & staring vigilantly out to sea.

I smiled at her with love in my heart (which then, I assume, traveled to her through my eyes) for our moll sisterhood. The next day I was filled with surprise as she showed her true colours, coming out of the water wet suited and board in hand! I had been fooled! The previous day she had been watching the ocean for her own benefit, not someone elses.

On closer inspection I have discovered that women in Japan are more inclined to be 'out the back' (that's surfer language for 'in the deep water') & a part of the action. If they are not inclined, you can find them at the bar with their friends, or (in the case of this island) at the local onsen. These women may appear cute and friendly, but a moll can see that as they giggle they are really saying to each other 'If Bazza ever tried to make me watch him surf I'd make origami from his privates' (rough translation of course).

So this situation begs the question, who is left to moll?

It seems Japanese surfers have enlisted the help of male-moll-friends, or fellow surfers. Many of the cars lined up overlooking the beach have man-molls in the front seat, either camera in hand or steadfastly staring at their surfer. As said surfer returns male-moll-friends slap them appreciatively on the back and pass them a towel, full of praise & interested comments that put my surly greeting and pointed glances at my watch to shame.

If a man friend can't be russeled up surfers can still paddle out with confidence, as other surfers spend a minimum of ten minutes pre and post surf vigilantly staring out, making sure no-one goes unwatched and no 'awesome wave riding trick' ( my words not theirs) is missed.

thinking back to Australia I realized that this support network exists there too (it may even be a world wide epidemic) I'd just been too distracted by my own kind to notice before. In every surfer there lies a 10 minute moll, maybe even more, ready to lend their eyes to those in need. Does this make full-time molls an endangered species? Will surfers of the world one day find us obsolete? Is this what we want?

As Mr Bodyboard runs up to me to beg me to film him for ten minutes or 'at least take some photos' I realize that if we are going, it's not going to be soon.

Dear Moll Diary,

My friend is concerned that I am taking too many books on my impending round-the-world-trip with mr Bodyboard. She hasn’t seen his bag. I came home last night and there it was, pristine, packed, and the heaviest bag I have ever attempted to lift. Two boards, two sets of flippers and two wetsuits. Although I might use them at times, they are not specifically there for his loving gal. They are there so he can surf no matter what. Rain hail or shine, he can get on a board and get out into the ocean.

And what will I be doing? What should any self respecting moll do on a twelve month surfing trip? Lie on the beach and observe other molls of course! This will be my year long study of moles of the world, a smorgasbord of bikini culture.

What do Japanese molls do while the object of their affection surfs, and more importantly does said surfer spear a tuna as they churn through a barrel (my use of words, definitely not okayed by mr Bodyboard) for their moll to make a sashimi masterpiece for lunch? Or is there a sushi version of a chicko roll……

Post Japan we’re of to Thailand, Indonesia, and Sri Lanka. Indonesia will see me tackle the heights of molldom, when Mr Bodyboard’s friend will join us. I will be in the interesting position of one moll, two surfers. Is it every molls dream, or nightmare? I have images of myself perfecting moving my eyeballs independently so I can watch them both. I also have visions of leaving them to each other and retiring to the bar…. Can two surfers be each others moll?

Late in the trip we will be in Canada for the snow season, and here I will be crossing the border from moll to ski bunny, hanging up my bikini and cocktail for a padded jumpsuit and hot toddy. As I can ski/snowboard about as well as I can surf/bodyboard I’m sure that again I will have a lot of time on my hands to observe tothers with a lot of time on their hands. I’ll be a mole going undercover to report to molls the secret world of bunnies.

Our trip will finish up in Hawaii, where is just so happens the bodyboard world championships will be on (mr Bodyboard did a very convincing ‘surprised’ face when we discovered this). I’m hoping they will do the right thing and also incorporate the moll championships. Not your stereotypical swimsuit comp, but challenges that real molls will strive to dominate. Who can hold their ‘interested and listening’ face for the longest when faced with a surfing monologue? As a group activity I would encourage us to attend the female body boarding heats, and support our minority male moles.

So check in on my blog every month to be kept updated with my world wide moll investigation, and if you have any suggestions of things I should look into let me know!

X Moll.

Dear Moll diary,

Mr Bodyboard and I were frolicking (OK so my words not his) in an unusually calm ocean. As he threw himself desperately at the less than minimal waves - the recent 'wave drought' or whatever you call it was obviously making him a little desperate - I happily bobbed along in the water as is my usual style.

Suddenly he was struck with an idea- that I should catch a wave and body surf.

After ten or more unsuccessful tries he was becoming more and more confused. He even attempted holding me and trying to glide me down the surface of the wave, making me feel a little like his true love (his board), but all was to no avail. I sadly had to point out my total inability to body surf. Luckily my point was highlighted as a wave crashed passed me leaving me in its foamy wake.

'After living by the sea for six month you haven't even learned to body surf, what have you learnt?!?' As he shot away on another wave I wanted to yell out that I had learned a lot thank you very much, but I couldn't exactly pin point what they were.

So as I lay back and attempted to float (something I haven't quite mastered) I started to think about what knowledge I now have that has come from the ocean.

Point one - If you stick your finger in one of those sea enenemies things for too long they will actually draw blood.

Point two - If you choose to go and sun bake topless at the beach you must accept the fact that everyone is looking at your breasts and wondering if you've had plastic surgery. No exceptions.

Point three - If you do in fact choose to wear a bikini and frolic in the ocean there is an inevitability in your top coming off and your boob coming out. Again I must stress, no exceptions. Also inevitable is that it will come of when you're standing next to a young boy and you will introduce him to puberty as he becomes hypnotised by your escaped tit.

Point four - If you are used to the super filtration chlorinated wonderland of an inner city pool it's best not to wear goggles in the sea bath. The locals who have used it for over 50 years and now look like tanned leather patched together with white hair do view it as their private space to clear their noses and dispose of whatever comes out of their bodies - and if you can't handle this then sans goggle swimming is the only way to go.

Point five, surely I must have at least five, think damn it think! Ah yes. Unless you're a life saver or one of the previously mentioned hard -core locals, don't wear speedos. Ever. ever ever ever ever ever. Ever.

Dear moll diary 2

I recently had a nasty bout of 'moll identity crises'. Yes it disturbs me too.

Mr Bodyboard woke at the ridiculous hour of 7:30 on a Sunday morning. Blearily I acknowledged his presence, hoping that by doing so I had excused myself from any participation in whatever was happening. I half listened to some ramblings about a bodyboard competition, the surfing conditions, all of this washing over me and sending me to sleep like a lullaby.

Off he went to 'check it out' and I was asleep before he shut the door, until an hour later he heralded his return with more discussion about the comp. finally he stated he was off to await his heat, and I fully intended to wave him off with a smile on my lips and a song in my heart.

Somewhere within me a sly little voice wondered 'why didn't he ask you to come and watch?'
'Because I DON"T WANT TO ' I thundered back (actually, can you reply to yourself or was I just extending an inner monologue?) but yet I heard myself ask 'Would you like me to come and watch?'

I mentally slapped my forehead. I'd let the moll out of the bag.

'No it's fine' he said over his shoulder as he walked out the door.
I was shocked and horrified. I stumbled over to the mirror and examined myself. Was I not a highly desirable sex kitten that anyone would be proud to have cheering them on? Who wouldn't want my lovely eyes gazing at them as they demonstrated their manly prowess on tiny waves?

I hung out the door and called out to him on the street 'well I was going for a swim in an hour or so, I'll swing by on my way'. I lay down and picked up my book promising myself that I would exercise my brain with the densest prose I could find before heading down, which would somehow make my actions OK.

But within seconds I found myself in front of the mirror again, trying on different saris, packing a bag, and then heading out the door.

I got to the comp and he came over, his race, or whatever they call it, wave triumph or something, hadn't started yet. I felt O.K, this was about me supporting and strengthening our relationship, nothing to do with mollyness, just good old fashioned love. I looked lovingly at him and noticed that he seemed a little stand-offish, not 'can't keep my hands off-youish' as I felt my outfit deserved.

I asked if everything was OK, expecting pre comp nerves or something. But instead he looked sheepish like a boy in a school yard asking out a girl for the first time. 'None of the other guys girlfriends are here'.

I cringed at myself, the lone moll at the comp with nothing better to do.

But I wasn't alone.
As I locked eyes with the one other female I suddenly realized I needed to run away. Very fast.

She sat next to her standing boyfriend, back resting against a rock and a sari drapped artfully around to expose just the right amount of bikini, as he lovingly rested his coke can on her head.
Like a freaking table.

'This beach is too crowded' I chirped slightly hysterically. 'I'm going to the next one over.'

The water was a freezing 15 degrees, but I stayed in for ages, perhaps trying to be reborn from my earlier brush with grade six moll behaviour. As I floated in the water, meditating upon my actions and slowly watching my toes turn blue, I didn't come to a conclusion re if I had actually been supporting mr Bodyboard or if my standards were slipping, but I did come to the conclusion that from now on I would always position myself next to a ledge to rest drinks on.